


You Belong To Me

by inber



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Begging, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Come Shot, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Messy, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Top Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23960179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: This ficlet was inspired by @goldandlights on tumblr, who came up with this little prompt:“You’ve heard of“Witchers have incredible stamina so Geralt can fuck for literal hours before he comes.”Now get ready for“Witchers have incredible stamina AND massively enhanced senses so Geralt comes quick and easy but has almost no refractory period. He’s extraordinarily sensitive and so responsive it’s downright adorable; Jaskier loves nothing more than pushing him through orgasm after orgasm until he’s an overstimulated mess.””And what, I’m just supposed to… not go crazy over that? Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. So I wrote something small in homage, and I hope you enjoy.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 43
Kudos: 1050
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	You Belong To Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Heyriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heyriel/gifts).



“Again, love?” Jaskier rasped, into the curve of Geralt’s ear, “What is that… six, seven times now? Gods, darling, but you _are_ worked up.”

“Hhhh— _nnnh!_ ” Geralt growled, the formation of words proving too difficult. He squirmed and bucked into the oil-and-come slick sheath of Jaskier’s hand, his head rolling back as streams of his seed burst from his red tip. “Fuuuu- _uuhh._ ” He tried to curse, but the ripple of his fisting abdomen had him bowing forward, simultaneously trying to get away from Jaskier’s firm grip, and to get _more_ of it. The towel folded in front of the kneeling Witcher was soaked, streaked with lines of his come, and his own torso was shining with sweat, oil and seed. He wasn’t such a white wolf at that moment; his skin was blushing a lovely shade of pink, his cheeks flushed. Jaskier actually had him _panting_ – a rarity considering his mutation.

But it was his mutation that Jaskier was obsessed with, enjoying the endless ways he could bring his strong lover to the brink of insanity, reducing the powerful man to a mess of begging and shivering ‘til he was so fuck-drunk that he could only sob,

or thrust,

or whimper.

Witchers were known for their recovery, that was a fact gossiped about from every brothel-parlour in every major city, but what was never spoken about was their _sensitivity_ , once sufficiently worked up into a frenzy. And Jaskier adored hitting that place with his Witcher, a plateau of pleasure that he didn’t let Geralt ever fully descend from once he’d achieved it. If he fucked with the aftershocks of Geralt’s orgasm in _just_ the right way, maintaining touch or pressure enough to fuel the buzz, but still allow for a brief refractory period, _well._

Their record to date was thirty-seven. Jaskier desperately wanted an even forty.

“Oh—ohh, that was a quick one.” The bard purred, pressing wet kisses against Geralt’s neck as he arched like a drawn bow, helplessly coming again from the expert and relentless hand-job Jaskier was torturing him with. The Witcher didn’t even try to speak this time, he just gasped and let the fizz of ecstasy consume his being entirely. Long after he’d spent his load, he kept rutting forward, mindlessly growling, his consciousness eroding as his needs became singular.

It was a good time for Jaskier to check in.

“My darling,” He purred, “My strong, _sexy_ beast. Tell me what your safety word is again?”

“Blue.” Geralt immediately answered, the single syllable snapped. Seconds later, he sat back on his heels, and Jaskier felt the cock in his slippery grip pulsing _again._ It never failed to enthrall him; the Witcher’s supply seemed endless, his body working to replace lost fluids with an inhuman efficiency. There was a point when he’d run dry, but they weren’t there yet. He moaned in appreciation, watching over Geralt’s broad shoulder as six thick ropes of his come hit the towel, the Witcher’s spattered chest, Jaskier’s waiting hand.

“Good, love.” Jaskier’s voice was tight, “If it’s too much, you tell—”

“ _More_.” Geralt snarled darkly, and Jaskier’s hardness twitched at the small of his back. So they were in the animalistic phase, now – okay. Grinning, he resumed a rapid stroke, as Geralt scratched along his own thighs, rocking forward, panting with obscenely parted lips.

“So _demanding_ , my heart.” Jaskier clicked his tongue. “Should be nice to me, darling. I can take my hand away at any time—”

“No!” Geralt interjected, the hitch of a cry on his quick breath, “ _Please,_ n—hhhh _fuuuuck!_ ”

The bard rested his chin on Geralt’s shoulder smugly, milking another shattering orgasm from his lover with practiced care, watching the soaking towel grow ever-messier. “Mmm, that was a big one.” He observed, “Such a wanting thing you are, darling. Wish I could fuck you.”

“Please,” Geralt picked up on the words, trying to reach behind him to grab some part of Jaskier, attempting to control him in some way, and failing. “ _Please_ fuck me.”

“Gods but you’re so _delicious_ when you say that, you know?” Jaskier’s arm was starting to cramp, but he never relented his pace. Geralt had become a very active participant, his powerful hips jutting forward, the friction-fucked crimson of his dick drooling precome. “We’ve tried before when you’re like this though, darling. You’re too tight. So _wound up_ , so strung out. My sweet fuck-thing, all— _ooh_ , there you go again.”

Geralt hunched forward, wracked with the overstimulation, his panting more sob than breath, but still he came; Jaskier lowly growled as he watched, the sound only serving to further excite his lover. His stream was less, but the kick-throb of his trembling cock was just as powerful.

“I only think you have one more in you before you’re dry, love.” Jaskier crooned, thumbing the ridge of Geralt’s dick with his calloused touch, “Give it to me, darling. Give me _everything_. And then we’ll rest, hmm?”

Geralt’s voice cracked with a whine as he power-fucked the sleeve of Jaskier’s curled hand, the bard no longer needing to move his arm; the Witcher was wild, nearly on all-fours, the pinch of his teeth tight. Nothing mattered anymore but Jaskier’s sweet voice and the feeling he could give him; his entire world shrunk to the space between them, to the pleasure that utterly ruled his body. “M'gon’,” He hissed, “M’gonna _come_.”

“ _Good boy._ ” Jaskier praised, the two words sending Geralt into a fluster; he burst with bliss, spending the last of his seed on his own chest, the two streams followed by a series of throbs as his balls tried in vain to drain, but had nothing left to give. The dry orgasm fucked with the realms of pain, a strange sensation that he’d never known until he’d met Jaskier. He entered a delirious place where he wasn’t sure where the pulsing began or ended; he only knew that he was leaning further and further back, snarling, greedy with harsh lungfuls of air, Jaskier’s clever fucking fingers playing him until he toppled them both over, utterly _had_.

Jaskier managed to shift from beneath the dead-weight that was his beloved, grinning triumphantly, curled around his head like a proud lion. “You did so _well,_ darling. Gods, if I had a mirror – you’re covered in come, so fucking blissed-out. Feeling floaty, love?”

“Hmm.” Geralt’s grunt was soft, and by the far-away look in his eye, Jaskier could tell he was. The Witcher’s cock still stood erect, and the bard grabbed a soothing cream from the nightstand, smoothing it onto the flesh made raw by friction. Geralt moaned and shuddered.

He whispered something so softly that Jaskier frowned, pausing his aftercare treatment. “What was that, darling?” He leaned down, ear to the Witcher’s dry lips.

“ _Again?_ ” The small request, a heartfelt plea.

Jaskier laughed gleefully, shrugged, and began to indulge his lover. Who was to say? Maybe today they’d make forty.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I can also be found on tumblr: @inber


End file.
